Snakes on a Train
by Gale Force
Summary: Gibbs and the whole gang track murderers across country on board an Amtrak train. On *their* trail, two Russian agents, one with a very special talent. This is a three part, 9 chapter story.
1. Chapter 1

**Snakes on a Train**

**Chapter One**

Doctor Donald Mallard and Abby Sciuto waited in line to board the Amtrak train that was to take them from Washington DC to their various destinations. Abby was going to Minneapolis, Minnesota, where she would be giving a couple of lectures at a law enforcement convention -- at which would be in attendance the forensic experts of both coasts and the Midwest, from the Navy's law enforcement branch, the NCIS, to the Army and Air Force's, as well as the FBI and the police departments of major cities.

Ducky was taking his mother on a long-promised cross-country trip which would culminate in Ozette, Washington, the westernmost town in the contiguous United States. He had often wanted to take her on such a trip, but his work had always interfered, and then as she had gotten older her health had deteriorated so much that the trip wouldn't have been feasible, still less when she'd needed to go into a nursing home.

But now…now, finally, they were going on the trip he had long promised her.

Since he was on vacation, Ducky had opted for first class accommodation – this included a bed for the night and dinner in the first class dining car. While Abby had chosen to take the train to keep Ducky company during dinner, the NCIS budget did not extend to a first class compartment for people on the clock, and besides, Abby intended to be in the observation car most of the time, getting to know her fellow travelers.

Boarding was announced, and they climbed up into the train. Although Ducky was a gentleman and tried to take her bag, she waved him off with a smile. (Her equipment cases had already been loaded as baggage and she wouldn't see them again until Chicago.)

Abby was in general seating, and after stowing her backpack in an overhead compartment she plopped into her large, comfortable window seat. Ducky remained standing, carrying a rectangular black case – a porter had already taken his luggage to his sleeping car, as befitted someone riding first class.

"Six o'clock for dinner, then, Abby?" he said.

"Sure, Ducky. I'll meet you in front of the dining car at six. And if you want me at any other time, I'll be in the observation car."

"Thank you, Abby." Ducky smiled sweetly at her, and then made his way through the corridor, across the various cars, into his own first class car and his own berth. Now, in broad daylight, it was outfitted as a drawing room, with two bench seats facing each other over a table, with a huge plate glass window to make viewing the scenery easy. At night, a porter would come in and make the bed up ready for the night.

Ducky sat with his back facing the engine. He set the black case on the bench seat opposite him, and opened it to reveal an ornate brass urn, which contained his mother's ashes. He was taking her ashes to Ozette, and once there, he would scatter them into the ocean, as had been her wish.

"Well, mother," he addressed the urn with a smile, "It was a fine send-off, wasn't it?" He was referring to her funeral, which had taken place a couple of days ago. The entire Washington NCIS department had been there to pay their respects – including the Director. Some of his mother's friends had been there as well – albeit not very many as she had outlived most of them. Then she had been cremated and her ashes and urn presented to Ducky by the mortuary. (Ducky, mindful of some scandals in the crematorium business, had been present while the process took place.)

There were a few rattles of the wheels, a few calls from the conductors on the platform outside, and then the train started moving on its journey.

As the train rattled through the industrial portion of Washington, DC, toward the countryside, Ducky kept up a running commentary on the scenery. Although he was addressing the urn as the focal point of his comments, he knew very well that his mother was not there. Her soul was in heaven now, with clear, far-seeing eyes, magnificent sense of smell and taste, and a body that could run and jump as if she were a child again. Failing that, the atoms of her soul were now intermixed with those of the Universal All. But _somewhere_, she was, and she knew that he was fulfilling her promise to her.

Abby, knowing Ducky very well, knew precisely why he'd wanted the privacy of a first class compartment, and was giving him the time with his mother that he needed. Meanwhile, she was enjoying herself in the observation car. Currently, she was discussing the rock group Plastic Death with a group of teenagers.

At precisely 5.55, Abby arrived at the dining car. Ducky came up to her a minute later, and a red-jacketed attendant escorted them to their table. This was the first seating of dinner, and surprisingly, very few of the tables were occupied. Ducky chose the seat that faced the engine (being brought up in England, it was a truism when riding the railroad – always face the engine), and Abby sat opposite him.

They chatted desultorily between themselves as they waited for their meals to arrive. Abby, whose eyes were always active, danced around the car, resting on each face, cataloguing them in her mind as was her habit. At the far end of the dining car, two men sat at a table in solitary splendor.

Their meals arrived, and these two chatterboxes were silent while they ate, except to comment on the deliciousness of the food.

Abby's eyes continued to glance around the dining car… she loved to people watch. She and Ducky were almost finished with their main courses when her eyes fell on those two men again.

The man facing her must have just received a phone call, because he reached into a pocket, pulled out a cellphone and put it to his ear. This was a rude thing to be doing during dinner time, Abby thought. She watched his face. He wasn't saying much, and now he was putting a hand over his eyes as if he were getting bad news. Finally, he slapped his hands together, closing the phone, and then glared at his companion.

_I told you not to kill him! The Russians are here. They've found his body already!_

Abby, a hearing child of deaf parents, could both read lips and communicate in sign language.

"Ducky, Ducky, shhh," Abby whispered, putting a hand on Ducky's wrist. "I've just overheard something important."

Ducky stared at her in surprise, but cut short his latest story and devoted himself to the last of his Beef Wellington. He noticed that Abby was staring at something…or someone…behind him.

The conversation Abby was watching was necessarily one-sided.

_Don't tell me there's no reason to panic. If the Russians tell the cops what Badunov was up to_…

_Alright, so it will be NCIS's responsibility. That's even worse! If the US military is going to get involved…_

_Don't joke. The Russians are 100% worse than the US cops. Jesus, you know what they do!_

_If you just hadn't killed him_...

At this point, the man looked up and met Abby's eyes.

Abby blinked and looked away. She put a morsel of food in her mouth, then looked up again. He was still looking at her. Abby raised her eyebrows, and smiled at him. This time, _he_ looked away. Carefully, Abby moved her gaze from person to person in the car, before finally bringing her gaze back to Ducky. She hoped in this way to make it clear, if he were still looking at her, that she was just a people watcher.

"Ducky," she hissed. "I just overhead the most amazing thing. I think I'm looking at two murderers. Well, one murderer, and one extremely frightened accomplice."

Ducky stared at her. "What do you mean, Abby?" he asked in an equally low voice.

Abby's eyes flickered upward, just in time to see the two men exiting the dining car. She would remember the man whose face she had seen…but she had never seen the other man's face…the murderer's face…

"Abby?"

"I was watching a man taking a phone call in the middle of dinner. You know how that always annoys me. Well, before I could look away, he hung up and starting talking to his companion. "You shouldn't have killed him!" That's what he said, "You shouldn't have killed him!"

"Abby…" Ducky said soothingly,

"I _saw_ it, Ducky. The guy was all terrified…he's afraid of some Russians. _And_ he said that NCIS was going to get involved!"

"Well," Ducky pursed his lips. "I suppose, in the heat of the moment, a man could be so emotionally upset that he'd have a dangerous conversation in a public place like a dining car."

"Yes…there was no one around his table. He was certainly upset, Ducky. And afraid. Then he saw me watching him and stopped talking."

Ducky sat up, concerned. "He saw you, Abby?"

"Well, yes, but he couldn't know I can read lips. He probably just thought I was checking out all the cute guys in the dining car."

"That's what innocent people would think, Abby. But guilty people who see someone watching them, _always_ think the worst. I think you'd better spend the rest of this trip in my compartment."

"Oh, Ducky, that's nice of you. But…"

Ducky held up a hand. "I won't hear any objections, Abby. Besides, you have work to do, and its best if you do it in private."

Abby's face brightened as she realized immediately what Ducky meant. "Of course. I need to call Gibbs and have him get out here, before those two men get off this train."

Ducky nodded.

At this point, their red-jacketed waiter appeared at their table.

"Two desserts to go, please," Abby told him.

**Chapter Two**

**Part 1**

Abby sat alone in Ducky's first class compartment. Well, not really alone, Mrs. Mallard's ashes were with her.

Ducky was out prowling the corridors. To be precise, he was walking through the corridors of the general seating cars of the train. Abby had very quickly sketched the man she'd seen talking about murder, and Ducky wanted to see if he could find him. Hopefully he would stay on the train for a good long while, but if he got off, at least Ducky would be able to tell Gibbs in what city he – and his murderous companion – had de-trained.

That was the first thing Abby had done – make a sketch so Ducky could go on his search.

Then she had called Gibbs at home and told him exactly what had happened.

"What do you think I should do, Gibbs? Should I call the cops and have them stop the train? It would be my word against theirs…the killers, I mean…but with you to vouch for my honesty…"

"No, Abs," said Gibbs. "Whatever's going on, we don't want the LEOs involved yet. Does the train make any long stops at any big cities between DC and Chicago?"

"I think it stops in Pittsburgh for half an hour or so," Abby said.

"Hmmm…" said Gibbs. "Well, I'll worry about the logistics on this end. I'll be with you as soon as I can. And, until I arrive, you stay in Ducky's compartment. And when Ducky gets back from his recon, you make sure he stays there, too."

"Will do, Gibbs."

"Okay, Abs. Can you do your sketch on the computer, and email it to McGee?"

"Sure. I've got Freehand on my laptop."

"Okay. Go ahead and do that. I'll be with you soon."

And Gibbs had hung up.

Now Abby was sitting there in an anti-climactic silence. Why should she stay hidden away in the compartment? It's not like she couldn't take care of herself. Even if she had left her mace, stun gun, and brass knuckles at home (darn these foolish travel restrictions!) she still had taken a few lessons from Ziva on how to immobilize an attacker. And it wasn't like they'd suspect her of anything…how many people knew how to read lips, for goodness sake? She should go out and find him, and charm him, and make sure he stayed on the train until Gibbs arrived.

Abby sighed…but she had promised Gibbs she'd stay right where she was. And they had a psychic connection. He'd know if she disobeyed his orders!

"So like a man, Mrs. Mallard," she sighed to the urn. "If a woman is a forensics genius instead of a field agent, they don't want her getting in on the fun."

**Part 2**

Gibbs needed transport, and he needed it fast. Not for the first time, he wished that the department had the necessary funds to purchase a small commuter jet that could take them places in a reasonable amount of time. They could probably pick one up inexpensively now, anyway, since a lot of CEOs were being pressured to sell their aircraft…by a government that didn't seem to realize that general aviation was full of jobs for people who needed employment, too!

Gibbs was actually thinking of two things at once. Who should go on the train, and who should stay behind in DC to track down this "Badunov's" supposed killers.

He preferred to be on the train. He had the authority to dragoon the local LEOs, anywhere along the line, to stop the train and pluck off the suspects – Ziva and Tony did not.

But this was too big a job for him alone, if there were two people on the train who needed to be trailed.

Gibbs flipped open his cellphone and dialed. After a few rings, the phone was answered. "Hey, Torchy? Gibbs here. I need a favor."

An hour and forty-five minutes later, Gibbs was seated in the co-pilot seat of an Embraer jet, while Torchy, a Marine SP director whom Gibbs knew, with emerald green eyes and blazing red hair, flew him towards a private field near Pittsburgh.

As the plane flew swiftly and silently toward their destination, he pulled out his cellphone and called Abby.

"I should be in Pittsburgh in plenty of time to catch the train, Abby," he said. "How are you and Ducky doing?"

"We found them by a process of elimination, Gibbs," Abby said. "Ducky went through all the general seating cars, and they weren't there. That means that they must be in one of these two sleeping cars – because the train hasn't stopped since I've seen them. And if they're in a sleeping car, chances are they aren't getting off in Pittsburgh. They're probably going all the way to at least Chicago."

"Very good," said Gibbs. "Well, I'll see you soon, Abby."

Gibbs settled back, one hand massaging his chin as he thought over Abby's words. Logically, they made sense. Why book a sleeping compartment if you were going to get off in Pittsburgh in the middle of the night? Nevertheless, he'd feel uneasy unless he was able to get to the train station in good time and make _sure_ that they didn't get off.

Gibbs checked his watch. He'd left a message for Ziva, Tony and McGee, instructing them on what they were to do the next day as regards to finding some kind of a murdered individual who would be investigated by NCIS. It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack – but Ziva, Tony and McGee were the people who could find such a needle if one existed.

Finally, the plane touched down at the Pittsburgh Regional Airport. Torchy, with her contacts in the area, had an SUV waiting there, and she drove him to the Train Station.

Torchy, dressed in black cargo pants and a black turtle neck sweater, touched Gibbs on the shoulder and inclined her head toward the bright red Platform sign. Gibbs nodded. He knew what she was doing – checking out the building for all its entrances and exits, in case it became necessary to pursue a suspect.

Gibbs went up to the security desk and flashed his badge. "Do you have security cameras covering the exits from the train platform into the station?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. Everyone who enters is photographed."

"Very good. After the Capitol Limited arrive from Washington DC, I want every single person who gets off that train filmed as they enter the station. Once the train leaves, you will take that tape and sequester it. I'll have someone from NCIS pick it up later."

"Yes, sir," said the security guard.

The train duly came in at midnight, as per the schedule. Gibbs had purchased tickets for himself and Torchy, and they were the last of about 20 people to get on the train. Prior to that time, they had hung around casually in the lobby, watching people enter. Torchy had confirmed that the entrance into the building was the only way people could get off the train – conductors at both ends of the trains watched to make sure people didn't wander along the platform.

About thirty people got off the train, by Gibbs' estimation. Although there were a few men among them, they all seemed to be single travelers, rather than together – not that that proved anything. But none of them had a "hard" look about them, of someone who could talk casually about murder. Regardless, they'd have that security camera footage if it turned out to be necessary.

Finally, Gibbs and Torchy boarded the train and made their way to first class, to Ducky's compartment, and knocked on the door.

"Gibbs!" exclaimed Abby, hugging him exuberantly. "I'm so glad you're here."

Gibbs grinned over Abby's shoulder at Ducky.

Abby released him, and then her eyes lit on Torchy.

"Oh," she said. "Hi."

"Abby, Dr. Donald Mallard, this is Teresa Morgan. She's the director of the Marine Security Police in DC. She flew me down here, and has agreed to provide some assistance."

"Call me Torchy," she said with a smile, extending her hand.

Finally, they were seated. Gibbs looked hard at Abby and Ducky.

"Okay. I told you two to stay put. So….what have you been up to?"

Abby and Ducky looked at him innocently.

"We have found it necessary to visit the toilets on more than one occasion," Ducky said with dignity. Other than that, we have not left this compartment."

"And did anyone else in this car have a case of the trots?" asked Gibbs resignedly.

"No one," said Ducky. "No one in this car left their compartments all night – and no one got off in Pittsburgh, either."

"So we're pretty sure they're traveling at least to Chicago." said Gibbs thoughtfully. "Abby, have you finished your digital sketch?"

"Yes, and sent it to the Night Watch's computer." (That was her name for the forensic technician who worked the night shift. NCIS was staffed 24 hours a day – albeit with a skeleton staff at night.) " He's going to be running it through the facial recognition database and it should be complete by the time McGee comes in in the morning."

Gibbs nodded. "Then, we wait for McGee."

**Part 3**

It was 6:45 am precisely…7.45 on the train rattling smoothly towards Chicago.

Ziva David slung her backpack down beneath her desk, while her eyes fell on the single sheet of white paper exactly in the center of the desk, on top of a DVD-R.

PLAY THE DISC WHEN YOUALL ARRIVE the note said.

Ziva glanced at her watch. She was her usual fifteen minutes early. McGee should be coming in any time now, and Tony would probably be there exactly on the dot, or at most a few minutes after.

Still, why should she wait fifteen minutes for them to arrive?

Ziva placed the DVD-R in the player underneath the big screen TV. She stepped back into the center of the room and aimed the remote at it when McGee entered.

"Good morning, Ziva," McGee said cheerfully.

"Good morning, McGee."

She paused, as McGee went to his own desk.

"Gibbs has left us a DVD to look at," she told him. "We're supposed to watch it with Tony."

"Oh, I don't think Tony will mind if we watch it without him," McGee said with alacrity, moving to join her. "What's it all about?"

"What's what all about, McAlfie?" said Tony, striding into the room. "Where's Gibbs?"

"I think this DVD will tell us," said Ziva. "If we're all ready?"

Tony tossed his gear behind his desk and went to join his two colleagues. Ziva hit the Play button. An image of Gibbs appeared on the screen.

"I didn't know he knew how to operate the video camera," Tony said, awed.

"Ziva, Tony, McGee. Yes, I know how to operate the video camera," said Gibbs.

Tony made a gesture with one hand, pinkie and forefinger extended. It was an Italian gesture, to ward off the supernatural.

"I am currently somewhere east of Pittsburgh, heading toward Chicago. I am on the Capitol Limited, the same train that Abby and Ducky are on. Abby called me last night and told me that she'd overheard someone talking about a murder, and that NCIS might be called in to investigate it…whenever the murder is discovered."

The trio exchanged glances.

"The victim might be someone called Badunov. That's phonetic – try all manners of spellings when you're looking that up. Ziva, you contact the INS and see if anyone with a name like that is in this country, from Russia. McGee, last night Abby emailed a sketch of our stranger on the train to the Night Watch, with instructions for him to run it through the facial recognition software program. Go find out what the status is on that, and then call me.

The train is scheduled to arrive in Chicago at 8.45 am – and that's mountain time - so you've got only an hour and 45 minutes to find out the name of the man we're travelling with. Go to it."


	2. Chapter 2

Snakes on a Train

Chapter Four

I.

The Capitol Limited is scheduled to leave Washington DC every day at 4.05 pm. It generally doesn t get away until 4.30. It goes through a variety of cities, generally making up time on the way, and reaches Pittsburgh at 11.48 pm, leaving ten minutes later. Cleveland arrives at 2.53 am, Toledo at 5 am, and it eventually arrives in Chicago at 8.45 am.

From here, both Ducky and Abby would continue on, on the Empire Builder, which would then drop off Abby in Minneapolis before taking Ducky all the way to Seattle.

The question was would it need to take Gibbs and Torchy anywhere?

II.

The Limited rattled along the tracks on schedule. Meantime, Timothy, Ziva and Tony were hard at work at NCIS headquarters.

McGee went down to Abby s lab to see if the facial recognition software had come up with anything on the man in the train from Abby s sketch.

Ziva looked over Tony s shoulder as he did a computer search for a Russian named Badunov in the TSA database.

It was only a few seconds before they had their answer. There was only one Badunov in the database.

Piotr Badunov, Tony read out loud. Came into the country two weeks ago through Washington DC. Doing consulting work for the US Navy.

There s your NCIS connection, commented Ziva.

The Navy is putting him up at the Marriott Residence Inn over near Quantico, continued Tony. According to his visa, he s supposed to be there for three months.

Shall we pay a visit to this Residence Inn? asked Ziva.

For answer, Tony stood up. Let s get our gear.

What about McGee?

Let s leave him here to play with his computers. Depending on what we find out about Badunov, he can hitch a ride with Ducky if need be.

Tony drove the van to the Residence Inn, with Ziva sitting in companionable silence next to him.

You ve got a Piotr Badunov staying here, Tony said, smiling cheerfully at the desk clerk in the lobby of the Residence Inn. He showed his ID, as did ZIva. What s his room number.

The clerk calmly looked through his computer. Suite 612, he said.

Thanks.

When is the last time you saw Mr. Badunov? asked Ziva,

The clerk looked worried. Has something happened to Mr. Badunov?

Just answer the question, said Tony.

Well, I m on the day shift. I see him when he leaves in the morning he looked at his watch, which should be in another half hour, and I m usually gone by the time he gets home in the evening.

So he left just as usual yesterday morning? ? asked Ziva.

Yeah, just as usual.

Does he ever get any visitors here? asked Tony.

The clerk shrugged. I wouldn t know. Like I say, I m on days. Occasionally he gets picked up by someone in the morning, but usually he takes his own car.

This someone who picks him up. American or Russian?

Oh, American. Wearing a Navy uniform, usually. It s only happened twice yeah, twice since he s been here

Tony nodded. Well, you ve been very helpful. Do me one more favor and give me his room key.

The clerk looked at them worriedly, but punched some buttons on a keypad, swiped a plastic card through a reader, and then handed it to Tony. There you go.

Tony and Ziva then took the elevator up to the sixth floor, and walked to room 612. Tony put his hand on the knob and started to insert the keycard into the reader when Ziva said, Knock first.

Tony raised an eyebrow at her, but shrugged and beat out shave and a haircut, two bits on the door. To his surprise, from within the room came a muffled voice speaking in Russian.

Tony and Ziva looked at each other in surprise.

Ziva, who understood Russian, translated in a whisper. He said, Just a second.

The door opened, and they found themselves looking at a short, somewhat stout man, with a round face. The beaming expression faded as he glanced at them in surprise.

He wore suitpants and a white shirt, and his tie hung loose about his neck. A suit jacket was on the bed behind him.. Yes, what is it? he asked.

I m Anthony DiNozzo, this is Ziva David, we re from NCIS, said Tony, flashing his badge. I wonder if we could ask you a few questions.

Badunov stepped back, opening the door wider. Certainly. Come in.

Ziva and Tony entered the room.

The Russian looked at his watch. I am due at Quantico in one half hour. Is this going to take long?

That s difficult to say, said Tony, glancing at Ziva again. It looked like she was going to make him do all the talking. Typical, thought Tony ruefully. He devoted his full attention to Badunov.

How has the US been treating you, Mr. Badunov? You re finding everyone friendly?

Badunov shrugged his shoulders, looking at the two of them bewilderedly. I am quite happy here, yes.

Did you come into the country with anyone else?

Badunov blinked. I beg your pardon?

You re on assignment at Quantico, right? Is it just you, or are you a member of a team of scientists visiting here?

Oh oh, I see. Well, yes, I am here with two of my compatriots.

And where are they now?

Badunov began to tie his tie. Dimitri Kropotkin and Pavel Diamotin. They are staying at this hotel as well. They are on the ground floor. Indeed, I thought you were Dimitri.

When s the last time you saw them?

Why, last night. We had dinner together at the Russian Tea Room. Then, they decided to go for a night on the town, as you American say. I took a taxi back here. We have rented a car Dimitri kept it last night. Has something happened to them?

We re just conducting an enquiry, said Tony. Perhaps we should all go down and visit Mr. Kropotkin.

Ziva stepped to the door and opened it. Just outside the door were two people, a man and a woman. The woman was tall, a couple of inches taller than Ziva, and wore a green leather pants outfit that fit her form admirably. The man matched her in height, and wore a black business suit. His hair was slicked back, and he looked a bit, thought Ziva, like Peter Stormare doing the Volkswagon Unpimp your Ride commercials.

Good morning, he said, smiling broadly. I see the earliest birds have already caught the worm. He also spoke with a Russian accent.

Behind her, Ziva heard Badunov make a choking sound.

May we come in? said the Russian.

Ziva gestured them to enter. Then, she stood in front of the door, poised on the balls of her foot. Badunov had taken a seat on his bed, and was clutching his suit jacket to his chest with both arms.

Can we see some ID please, said Tony.

The Russian reached into his suit pocket and brought out a folder which he held up to Tony. I am Ivan Pepitoparoff, of the Russian Special Police. This is my associate Alekhine.

Well, Mr Mr..

Call me Ivan.

Well, Ivan, I m Tony DiNozzo of NCIS, and that is my associate, Ziva David.

It is an honor, said Ivan, bowing slightly to Ziva.

Alekhine did not speak, but rather walked up to Badunoff, grasped his suit coat, and removed it from his unresisting arms. She reached underneath the fold and brought out a revolver, which she held up to show her partner.

Well, well, well, said Tony, looking at the now defenseless and ill-looking Badunov. What have you been up to, Mr. Badunov?

Alekhine handed the gun to Ivan, who in turn tucked it into his waistband. Alekhine then moved over to stand just a few feet away from, Ziva, who remained in front of the door.

Badinov s lips were working he looked like a fish gasping for air.

That is not your concern, said Ivan cheerfully. You will leave Mr. Badunov to us, please, Agent DiNozzo.

Oh, I don t think so, Ivan, said Tony. You see, we ve got a special reason for wanting to talk to Mr. Badunov.

Oh? And what is that? asked Ivan.

Tony gestured airily. Tell you what, Ivan. Let s all go down to NCIS headquarters and discuss this.

I do not think that will be necessary, said Ivan. We will take Mr. Badunov and go.

Please do not let them take me, stuttered Badunov.

Get up, Comrade Badunov, said Ivan cheerfully. You have taken up enough of these people s time.

He reached for Badunov, who rolled backward over the bed. Please, he gasped.

That s enough, said Tony. Completely confident that Ziva would be able to handle Alekhine, Tony grabbed for Ivan s arm and tugged him backward, simultaneously grabbing the gun from Ivan s waistband. Ivan grabbed Tony s hand, and for a few seconds the two men strained at each other. Behind him, Tony could hear sounds of fighting and knew that Ziva was giving short-shrift to Alekhine. Nevertheless, he was not going to wait for her to rescue him, as usual. Gritting his teeth, Tony swept one of Ivan s feet out from under him and twisted him onto the bed. He then leveled the gun at Ivan s head.

Now let s just calm down a minute, comrade, Tony said.

Ivan smiled. I suggest that you give me that gun, Tony, if you do not want your colleague to be severely injured.

Tony whirled around incredulously. Ziva was on the floor, unconscious. Alekhine was kneeling behind her, propping up her torso, and holding a gun to her head. Tony gaped at her. He was a good shot, but there was no way he could squeeze a shot off and hit the few inches of Alekhine that were visible. He wasn t Gibbs.

The gun please, Tony, said Ivan. Then we will take Mr. Badunov with us and go, and no one will be harmed.

What about Mr. Badunov? said Tony, as he handed the gun over.

Oh, do not worry about Mr. Badunov, said Ivan. He will not be harmed, because he will answer all the questions that we put to him without any prompting. Is that not so, Comrade Badunov?

Of of course, said Badunov.

Very well. We go.

Badunov stood up. With a final beseeching look at Tony as he walked past, he moved to the door. Alekhine had lowered Ziva s body to the ground and stood up. She opened the door, and Badunov went through it. Alekhine followed him.

Ivan remained behind, smiling at Tony, while at the same time holding Badunov s gun level at him. We will wait a few little minutes, to give them time to get to my car, said Ivan. Then I will take my leave also, and you may attend to your partner.

If she s hurt

You need not worry, Tony. Alekhine is most proficient. She will be unconscious for ten minutes, no more.

Tony took a deep breath and forced himself to smile. Ivan, I work for a really, really tough boss. He is not going to be happy with me, letting you and Mrs. Peel there take Badunov away from me like this. We re on the same side, aren t we? Stopping the bad guys?

This is true, said Ivan, backing away from Tony toward the door, then glancing quickly at his watch. The capture of Badunov and his compatriots will benefit both our countries. Yet I tell you truthfully that Alekhine and I prefer to work alone. So, I leave you now to look after your partner.

He opened the door, stepped through it, and closed it behind him.

Tony surged forward and gathered up Ziva. She was still breathing. He felt her head, trying to discover where Alekhine had hit her. He was still in shock over that. How in hell had had she been able to beat Ziva and so quickly, too? It was incredible, not possible.

Tony s confidence was shaken. In all the years he d worked with Ziva, he d never seen a single person that could ever stand against her, and even two or three rarely had any luck. But today she had met her match more than her match it was scary.

Ziva groaned, and opened her eyes. She focused them on Tony, blinked, then swore and struggled to get up.

Where are they? she demanded.

They got away. Said Tony. A few seconds ago. What happened, Ziva?

Only a few seconds? Then we ve got to she started struggling to her feet, and Tony helped her.

They re long gone, Ziva, said Tony. Take it easy. What the hell happened?

Ziva brought both hands up to her neck, wincing as she stretched.

When I saw you grab Ivan s hand, I immediately turned to take care of Alekhine, she said slowly, remembering. I grabbed for her arms, intending to put her in a headlock. But she avoided me she was very fast incredibly fast. I karate strikes she blocked them all and then ...

She spread her fingers.

And then, wham, said Tony hollowly.

Ziva took a deep breath. We need to find them, Tony, and quickly. I very much want to meet Alekhine again.

Well, first I think it s time we met Dimitri and Pavel, said Tony. Or at least see if Alekhine and Ivan have taken them away, too.

They made their way back down to the lobby.

Mr. Badunov, Tony said to the clerk, he left here a couple of minutes ago, eh?

Yes, said the clerk. With a man and a woman.

These security cameras, said Ziva, gesturing at the ones over his shoulder. What is their radius?

I don t understand.

Would they have been able to record the features of the two people who left with Mr. Badunov?

Oh, I see. Um I don t know. A security company set them up, and the feed goes directly to that company. They record it on DVDs, I guess. I can give you there address.

Thank you, said Ziva.

You can also give us the room keys for Kropotkin and Diamontin, said Tony. Have you seen them today?

Uh no, no I haven t. Which is odd, they usually leave at the same time as Mr. Badunov.

Shortly thereafter, Ziva and Tony knocked at the door of Dimitri Kropotkin. This time, there was no answer. Tony shoved in the key card, the green light clicked on, and they walked into the room.

Dimitri Kropotkin was lying on his bed, quite, quite dead.

Tony and Ziva exchanged glances.

Well, there ya go, said Tony. Abby s mystery man did kill someone, Kropotkin. And Badunov was up to something. But the Russians aren t telling us anything.

Eventually they will, Tony, said Ziva grimly. Eventually they will.

Tony felt his confidence in Ziva surging back. She was so good, she must have underestimated Alekhine but Ziva wouldn t make that same mistake twice. Tony grinned. He d hate to be in Alekhine s shoes, when Ziva caught up with her.

Well, he said, aloud. You call McGee and tell him to send out Ducky. I ll call Gibbs and tell him we ve got Abby s body, and .well, and the rest of story.

Ziva nodded, but her teeth gritted. Another little reason for her to look forward to a rematch with Alekhine. Which would be very soon, if she had anything to do with it.

She pulled out her cellphone and punched McGee s speed dial number with authority. 


End file.
